Sacked (Gridiron #1) (26 page)

“You kept all my T-shirts?” he asks with a sly grin. He must have helped pack my things.

“Of course.” If I had energy, I’d roll my eyes.

He chuckles low and I hug myself at the happy sound. Knox pulls back the covers and climbs in, taking up the position against the wall. I burrow into him, pushing my butt into his groin and laying my head on his biceps.

“Hammer’s submitting an article to an online woman’s magazine about how sperm is good for a woman’s body. Think it’ll be accepted?” His hand strokes leisurely down my side.

“I’m scared for womankind,” I answer sleepily.

“But kind of curious?” He presses a kiss against the crown of my head.

“Scared.” But yeah, kind of curious. I drift off to sleep, full of contentment.

G
ame Day
: Warriors 11-1

The atmosphere in the locker room consists of subdued hope. We’re one game away from ending the season with only one loss. We win today and we’re in the conference championships which is one step closer to our goal of a National Championship.

Coach has called reporters, analysts, and other coaches, making the case that we belong in the playoffs. The selection committee isn’t bound by the polls that have us ranked seven. They make their own decisions. Today we give the selection committee every reason to place us in the top four.

Beneath the dry fit T-shirt, the pads, and the jersey, my heart beats double time.

I get up on a bench and wait for Matty to pull his headphones out. For Hammer to stop texting. For Ace to gather up the offense.

When the room falls silent, I raise my helmet above my head. “We started this season with one goal—for a chance to play for a title. That goal still exists. For some, this is the last home game we play.”

Somewhere in the crowd I hear a gasp. Not everyone knows I planned to declare. It’ll be out there soon enough, but what’s said in the locker room stays here.

“We’ll never step foot on Union Field wearing the Warrior’s uniform. Our locker will hold someone else’s uniform. Our time here will become a memory.” I tap my helmet against my head.

The team looks at me with rapt attention.

I don’t say anything for a few moments because I need to take one—one last time. Even if we win today, this might be the last time I wear the gold and blue. It’s been a crazy, exhilarating, mind blowing, heart aching, unforgettable three years. I’m not leaving without a fight. I’m ready to lay everything I have out on that field.

“Every second on that field, we have a choice. We can play together as one unit, one machine, one heart. If we do that, no matter the outcome, we will have met our goal. Today I plan to play as if I will never get to play again. If I am still standing at the end of the game, I have not tried hard enough. Men!” I call sharply. “This is my heart. My will. My desire.”

I thump my hand across my chest twice in rapid succession. Matty follows. So does Hammer, then Ace, and then the entire locker room fills with the percussive beat of joined will. To that beat, I shout: “No one can defeat us if we believe. You have the heart of a Warrior?”

“Yes!”

“The pride of a Warrior?”

“Yes!”

Matty quickens the pace. The rest follow.

“The will of a Warrior?”

“Yes!”

The din of our fists against our hearts is overwhelming. I have to scream to be heard. “Then we will fight as Warriors. We will bleed as Warriors. We will win as Warriors.”

I jump down and grab Ace. We put our heads together and the team of ninety plus men gather at our backs. We move as one. One giant mass of flesh, muscle, and desire.

“Fight! Bleed! Win! Fight! Bleed! Win! Fight! Bleed! Win!” The team roars its promise. Someone opens the doors to the tunnel and we burst out, running like we’re chased by bulls. No, we’re chasing the bulls. We’re the meanest, nastiest, toughest fucks on the planet, and today is our time.

The Lions win the coin toss and elect to receive. They want their number-two-ranked offense in the country on the field first. Fine. I jam my helmet down. I want to introduce Mr. Heisman to the turf as soon as possible. He’ll learn the only thing he’ll see today will be my number in his face.

It goes our way from the beginning. We win the snap and defer. The Lions start off on the twenty. I line up across from the left guard. 

“You might want to kneel down now, because you’re about to spend a lot of time on your back,” I inform the NFL-bound offensive lineman.

He snorts. “Sure, I am, jack wagon. You’ll be using your towel to dry those tears after we light you up.”

“Not this year.”

I hit him hard, pushing him aside, and run hard after the quarterback. He must feel my footsteps because he releases early and the pass is incomplete. I slap him lightly on the helmet before helping him to his feet.

“I hope you ate your Wheaties today, because you’re about to have a workout.”

The Heisman trophy candidate glares at me as I run back to my side of the field.

I jaw all day. To the nose tackle, I ask, “Did you dress more than three deep at the tackle position? Because I’m going to wear you and your backup down to nubs by the end of the first quarter.”

“You should stay down, Marshall,” I tell the strong side linebacker. “It’ll save you some pain.”

In the fourth quarter, I feel like I haven’t played a down. I slap Hammer’s ass hard. “We making good television today, Hammer?”

He laughs like a hyena.

At the end of the game, after the press has left, I’m drenched in Gatorade and sweat, standing on top of the bench. The faces around me are wreathed with unadulterated joy.

It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. We'd beaten the number five ranked team in the country. That means we should take their place in the rankings tomorrow. One short of what we’d need to make the playoffs.

I stand for a moment and look into the stands shrouded in royal blue Warrior gear. Others do the same—seniors who won’t go to the next level. Guys who played for four years, but will move on to be businessmen, doctors, lawyers. No matter where they go in their lives, they’ll always be able to say that they played for one of the best college teams in the country. I have no doubt that if you asked every one of them if their broken fingers, black eyes, bruised bodies were worth it, they’d snap out a yes faster than you could blink.

Because there is nothing like this game. What had Ellie said? The temple built to the reverence of physical perfection? She’s right and she’s wrong. It’s a place that celebrates sacrifice as much as it celebrates winning.

Ellie’s sacrificed so much for the game. For her brother. For us. I wish she could be here. I tilt my head and pretend she’s sitting in the very top.

Best seats in the house.

“Miss you, baby,” I say into the cool afternoon air. I kiss my helmet and raise it up for her. And then turn to walk toward the tunnel.

A print journalist from the local paper catches me before I can make my way off the field. “There are rumors that you plan to declare. Is this your last home game?”

Behind the journalist stands the team PR lady. She glares at me as if she knows I’d rather run away than do this.

I muster up a smile and bend down to reach the microphone. “This is the last home game this year,” I answer carefully, not letting on that this is a bittersweet win. “Being a Warrior is a special opportunity and I’m grateful to be part of the team.”

“Do you deserve the playoffs despite the one loss earlier in the season?”

“Yes, we deserve the playoffs.” That’s reckless, shit talking, bulletin board type of language, that will probably get mangled into something like Knox Masters guarantees a win and be blasted all over social media. But I believe it 100%.

“Are you saying you’re better than the five other teams in front of you?”

“I’m saying we belong in the playoffs. That’s all.”

“There are rumors of locker room problems. Did that distract you?”

“Did it look like I was distracted today?” I look over her head at Coach, who gives me a nod that I can go. I trot out the lines that we players practice as a joke. “I’m glad I can be part of the Warriors and have the opportunity to play for a national title with the best guys in the world.”

I raise my helmet in the air and holler. The guys holler back, and soon it’s too loud for questions.

We run off the field, into the locker room where there’s more press, more boosters, family members. I hug everyone. Slap a dozen asses. Take a bath in even more Gatorade.

There’s no Ellie, but I call her. I pick up my phone and head straight for the showers.

“You played so great, babe!” she squeals. “I particularly liked the first quarter sack. You stood over the quarterback for a while. What did you say?”

I told him he should get used to the turf. “I complimented him on how pretty he looked lying down.”

She snorts. “Jesus. You’re asking for it.”

“I can’t wait to come home, wife.”

She giggles. “I can’t wait to celebrate.”

Well, hot damn.

I make her do all the work because my poor body feels sore even after the ice bath. Then we get up and watch the rest of the games. Jack, Riley, me, and Ellie sit in her living room, glued to the television.

We watch in growing elation as the number-two-ranked team in the country falls apart before our eyes. The quarterback loses a fumble on the twenty. On the ensuing punt, the tight end gets a personal foul and the opposing team starts on the forty five. 

The twenty point underdogs march down the field, punch the ball in, and the score is fourteen-zero. The phone rings. 

“You watching this?” Matty yells. I can hear cheers of jubilation in the background.

“It's the first quarter, bro.” I try to play the voice of reason. Jack and I exchange guardedly hopeful looks. Neither of us say anything out loud because we don’t want to jinx it.

The second quarter goes about as well for the favored team as the first quarter, and they go in losing twenty-one zero at the half. By the fourth quarter, the team tries to make a run, but it's too little, too late. 

“What does it mean?” Riley cries. My phone is blowing up, but Ellie answers for me.

“A selection committee of sorts decides who is in the playoffs. Ever since the loss four weeks ago, the Warriors have dominated. Today, the top ranked team lost to an unranked one, and by a big margin.” She gestures toward the television. “The rest of top-rated teams looked hamstrung and confused today.”

“When will we know?” Riley leans forward eagerly.

“Tomorrow,” Ellie answers. “The slate will be set tomorrow.”

I’m glad that this is the one day of the season they don’t make us wait until Tuesday for the rankings. Ellie’s correct. The final four BCS teams will be announced on Sunday, just one day away.

I don’t know if Riley or Jack sleep at all. I can’t. I keep waking Ellie for sex because I’ve got so much nervous energy. Around dawn, she kicks me out.

“Go run. I cannot have your dick inside me one more time.”

“I could lick you,” I say hopefully.

She slams a pillow over her head. “Seriously, I think another orgasm would feel painful.”

Reluctantly, I leave her and go run. I’m not even tired after ten miles, so I go to the weight room. I’m not the only one there. Matty’s doing deadlifts. I go over to spot him.

“The wait is fucking excruciating.”

“I know it.”

Grimly, he gestures for me to put another plate on the bar. “I’m hoping to lift myself into a stupor. Don’t stop me until the news comes out.”

I go to the bench press and hope I can do the same. After a couple of hours, the strength coach makes us leave. Matty and I go back to the house and play Madden with the boys. If I go home to Ellie, I’m afraid I’ll attack her, and then I’ll be divorced before the playoffs start.

Around supper time, the phone rings again.

“You gonna answer it?” Matty demands.

Part of me doesn’t want to. As long as I don't know there's still hope. But then I give myself a head slap and pick up my phone.

“I sent you a text. Read it,” Coach says and hangs up.

I pull up the messages. It’s a message from the BCS committee. I scan it. Then read it again. Then read it for a third time. I get up, walk into the kitchen, and put my phone in the far corner. Everyone goes silent. Matty’s hand freezes halfway between the Dorito bag and his mouth.

“You have to stop eating that shit food, Matty boy, because the Western State Warriors are fucking fourth seed.”

His hand opens and chips spill onto the floor. I couldn’t care less.

“You're shitting me?”

“No.”

“Fuck, yes!” He punches the air. Someone else flips the coffee table over. In less than five minutes, chips, beer, soda, and furniture are all strewn about the apartment as the guys hug, back slap, and throw shit around in unrestrained rapture. My smile stretches wide as a football field.

We are in.

A
t the knock
on the door, I smooth back my hair back and straighten Knox’s home jersey. The Warriors were the away team at tonight’s playoff game. They had easily won their conference title and with the win tonight stood only one game away from the National Championship Title. I check the peephole and a good-looking face—minus the close-set eyes and slightly crooked jaw—grins at me.

“Really?” I drawl as I swing the door open. “You think wearing his tie will confuse me.”

Ty self-consciously adjusts said tie. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Fine.” I leave the door open and walk back to the television, where the commentators talk about Western State’s national championship opponent. Ty doesn’t come over and sit with me on the sofa.

He closes the door and then stands by it, staring at me.

“You’re making me uncomfortable, Ty.” I make a face at him. “Do I have eye liner on my nose or something?”

“You really can tell us apart, can’t you.”

It’s not so much a question as a strange lament. He sounds almost mournful that I can see through his little games and tricks.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“It’s obvious.” I don’t tell him he’s not as attractive as his brother because these boys have big, but tender egos.

“I came too early, didn’t I? None of the team came back, so you knew it was me.”

If that makes you feel better.
Actually, no, I’m not letting him off the hook. “Jack came by twenty minutes ago.” I point to the clock. “I figured Knox got cornered in the lobby by some enthusiastic booster.”

Ty gets up and begins to pace. “Is it the way I talk? My time in the South has given me an accent, that it?”

“I think the time in the southern sun has baked your brain silly,” I say. “Why does it matter? Isn’t it a good thing?”

“Not for me.” He frowns.

From the stories Knox has shared about the times they’ve pranked people, from their parents and teachers to girlfriends and coaches, I feel almost relieved I can tell them apart.

It’d be incredibly stressful figuring out who is who. Ty should feel grateful I’m not asking one of them to get a facial tattoo so it’s easier for me to distinguish between the two of them.

“What’s the deal with your names?” I ask, since Ty can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact the two of them look completely different to me.

“What has Knox said?”

“Nothing. Although I’ve never asked. His is somewhat different. Yours is very unusual.”

A dull flush spreads across his cheekbones. “Since you’re part of the family, I’ll tell you, but only if you swear on Knox’s Achilles’s tendon you won’t tell another soul.”

“That’s your vow? On your brother’s Achilles’s tendon?” I roll my eyes. These two…it’s a wonder their beautiful mother isn’t completely gray by now.

“Do you swear it?” Ty presses.

I hold up my hand, palm out. “I, Eliot Anne Campbell, do solemnly swear never to reveal the origins of your names, even on threat of death, or the Achilles’s tendon of my beloved will be desecrated.”

Ty nods in approval. “Nice vow, but you’re Eliot Anne Masters now.” Whoops. That’s still so new I forgot. He threads his fingers together and then stretches his arms fully in front of him, pushing his palms outward, cracking about five knuckles in the process. “So my mom loves romances, specifically Scottish highlander historical ones. I may have even glimpsed a scene with my father wearing a kilt I didn’t know he owned and my mother—” He shudders. “Let’s not speak of it. I’m still traumatized.”

I press my lips together to keep from busting out a laugh at Ty’s wide-eyed horror. “You’re named after authors? Places?”

He mumbles something into his hand.

“What was that? Shmeroes?”
Shmeroes? Is that even a word?

“Heroes,” he says. “Heroes. We’re named after brawny fake highlanders that my mom read about before she met my father. Or after. Shit if I know.”

I try not to laugh, but it’s impossible. I fold over and end up falling off the sofa onto the floor, holding my stomach and roaring with glee. I can imagine the locker room talk if
that
choice tidbit got out.

“I wish you would have put that in your
SI
profile,” I gasp out. Ty throws a pillow at my head.

I’m only partially composed when another sharp rap against the door rings out. I open it before looking through the peephole, figuring it’s Jack or Knox’s parents.

Instead, it’s Knox wearing his blue wool suit and white shirt with a red and white tie draped around his neck, looking mouthwateringly beautiful.

“Why are you wearing your brother’s tie?”

Knox gives me a slightly abashed look. “It was Ty’s idea.” He holds up his phone as if to show me texting proof Ty initiated this. “He said it’d make me feel good.”

Exasperated, I place my hands on my hips. “And does it?”

He smiles and looks past me into the room where Ty stands. “Yeah, sorry. It really does.”

I throw up my hands and stalk back into the room. I don’t get far before Knox gathers me against him to bury his face in my neck. “God, I’m glad to see you. I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Your parents convinced me. Called it their late Christmas present to both of us.” The ban remains in existence, so I can’t go to the game. But I can stay in a hotel in the same city as the playoff game and if it just so happens to be the same one where the Western State football players are staying? Well, oops.

“Merry Christmas to me,” he says in a low, throaty voice and turns me around.

“It’s New Year’s Eve,” I remind him.

He ignores this and places a hot, open mouthed kiss against my neck. I shudder as his lips skates against my skin. His mouth crashes against mine and we forget where we are. That we aren’t alone. That the door to the hallway is still open.

Ty’s coughing and banging of doors has us reluctantly separating.

“Hate to break up this love fest, but Mom and Dad expected us about twenty minutes ago.”

Knox’s face is a portrait of disappointment.

I stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry. They wanted to see you tonight too.”

“They did,” he complains. “They were outside the locker room. I already hugged them both.” He slides a leg between mine. “Please say we don’t have to go.”

I swallow a tiny moan at the delicious friction, and for a second, my desire to haul Knox to bed swamps my good manners. Sense prevails at the last minute and I manage to peel myself off of him. “No, we have to go. It’s the least we can do.”

“Fine.” He crosses his arms, clearly unhappy. “You wearing my jersey downstairs?”

“Nope. That was to give you good luck during the game.”

I tug the large sack of fabric over my head, revealing a skintight black dress I found at the thrift store that Riley tailored to fit my body. It’s a gorgeous piece of real silk, formerly about three sizes too big. I had my doubts, but Riley insisted and the results look stunning. Knox’s mouth falls halfway open and even Ty’s eyes have a glazed look to them.

“That’s a real nice dress, baby,” Knox croaks out as I waltz by him to pick up my clutch—also a thrift store find.

“Thanks.” I pat his cheek, thrilled at the possessive, hungry way his eyes eat me up.

Dinner is excruciating. Every touch drives me crazy and it’s the same for Knox. We can’t keep our hands off each other, and yet the only way to make it through the dinner is to stay apart. I nearly cling to his mother while he stands awkwardly by his brother, eating me up with his eyes.

There are dozens of well-wishers here.

Ty’s agent comes by, a brusque, bald man shorter than me. He’s a lawyer, Knox tells me, hard-nosed and no-nonsense. There’s not a whiff of scandal around him.

After what seems like hours later, we escape back to the hotel. We race each other to the bedroom. He sweeps my hair to the side and runs a broad hand down my back.

“Where’s the zipper in this damn thing?” he growls against my neck.

“Side zipper.” I lift my arm and show him the pull.

He tugs it down, running two warm fingers along the skin exposed as the zipper lowers. I don’t quell the shiver that skates across the surface of my body, because I don’t care if he knows how easily I’m seduced by him and his touch.

We have no more secrets between us.

In the crook of my neck, he buries his nose. His chest heaves against me as he inhales. “I started my life the day I met you. Everything before then was practice.”

I clutch him closer. Words are easy for me to write, but so much harder to say. He’s making it easier by loving me so freely.

“I never knew I could feel so happy until you came along. I never knew what it meant to belong...” I swallow hard because I don’t want to cry. This is a time for celebration. I press my own head down against his.

“I know, baby.” His lips curve against the tender spot where the shoulder and neck meet. He loves it when I get emotional. “We didn’t fall for each other. We fell into each other, and now we’re carrying each other forward into our perfect future. I can’t wait to spend every tomorrow with you.” As if he knows that I’ve hit my limit, he pulls back and throws me on the bed. “But right now I can’t wait until I’m inside of you.”

Hairpins, ties, underwear go a million different directions until it’s just Knox and me, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, heart to heart.

“I love you,” he whispers as he moves above me.

His hands roam over my shoulders. The rough pads of his fingers scrape along my collarbone, over the rise of my breasts, pausing to circle my hard nipples. Each touch feels more loving than the last.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says with reverence. “Beautiful and mine.”

I push up against him, ready to be filled. He doesn’t hurry, though. We have all the time in the world. Our whole future lies ahead of us.

He settles between my legs and his big frame pushes my legs farther apart until I’m completely exposed to his look, his touch, his caress. I lick my lips when he takes himself in his hand and positions himself at my entrance.

I curve around him, fitting my body against his in the perfect way we learned suits us best. Into his hard edges, I rub my soft parts. He strokes me with a firm and knowing grip, finding that little spongy flesh that makes my toes curl and elicits a sharp, reedy sound from the back of my throat.

“I know you’ll win next week,” I tell him with a tired and happy smile.

“Doesn’t matter.” He cups my chin tenderly. “I’ve already won the most important game of my life.”